Something Happened
by Cackling Grackle
Summary: It all started with a phone call. "England? Matt's dead." That one bloody phone call. Character deaths, mild violence, mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

"England? Matt's dead."

"What? Who's dead?"

"Matt. Canada. He's dead. I don't know what happened he just… Died."

England frowned and put down his newspaper. "What do you mean he's dead? A nation can't die."

"Well, apparently a nation can die because Matt is f***ing dead!"

"Hold on I'll be right over."

"Okay. But hurry. I don't know what to do." There was a quiet sob. "I'm scared."

"I'm on my way."

.oOo.

When England arrived an hour later he found the door was open, letting in the rain. He ran inside, his jacket collar popped against the wind and cold. When he got inside he closed the door. A quiet sobbing came from the next room over and he followed the sound, not bothering to remove his jacket or shoes.

The next room was the living room. An overly large flat screen TV was mounted on the closest wall, spewing static and noise. It was the only thing that lit the room and facing it was a couch. America was crouched next to the couch, bent over and crying. Around his figure England could just make out a mess of blond hair.

He approached cautiously and looked over his brother's shoulder. There on the couch, laid out flat, was none other then Canada, his sweater wrinkled and his glasses askew. He certainly looked dead.

England crouched down and put a hand on America's shoulder making him start and emit a small squeak. The younger turned his head slightly to look at the elder out of the corner of his eye. Tears streaked his face and he looked incredibly pale.

"What happened?"

America shook his head helplessly. "I don't know," he said between sobs. "We were watching a movie and I went to make some popcorn. When I came back the TV was all weird and Matt was dead." His voice broke on the last word and another round of tears poured from his eyes.

England reached forward and put two fingers to Canada's neck to check for a pulse. His skin was clammy and his lips were blue. There was no pulse. He withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around America. The sobbing nation huddled in his embrace and continued to cry.

Looking around the room it wasn't obvious that this was murder. Everything seemed to be in it's proper place, but to England's keen eye it was obvious. A pillow lay forgotten on the floor next to Canada's head and the blue lips showed he had died of asphyxiation.

Someone had been here and someone had killed his baby brother. And someone was going to pay.

**Hi.**

**Welcome to the Author's Note where I can say whatever I want and you can skip it if you don't feel like reading my ramblings. Anyways this was a spur of the moment kind of thing, I side story if you will. Because what I do to deal with writer's block it I write something else. This is that something else.**

**DISCLAMOR! Don't own Hetalia.**

**Please review! :D**


	2. Chapter 2: Whispers

**2**

"Canada is dead."

"Who?"

England glared at the questioner. "Canada," he explained. "Mine and America's little brother. He died last night and I have reason to believe that it was not an accident."

From his seat next to England America looked up with confusion in his teary eyes. The others seemed equally confused. France, however, just looked incredibly shocked. His mouth opened and when no words came out he closed it again and looked down at the table wide-eyed. The whole room had a air of astonishment about it.

"I'm sorry, Opium, but I have to ask." Every pair of eyes turned to look at China. "How did he die?"

England glanced down at his brother who was trying hard not to cry before responding. "I believe… he was suffocated."

A mutter swept through the crowd of nations, a mutter full of questions and worries. He looked around waiting patiently for them to stop and his eyes fell on France. The blond was staring at America with an unreadable look in his eye. America didn't seem to notice.

As the mutter slowly died away a single question came forth. "Who did it?"

There was no answer to be had and immediately people started looking at one another accusingly. Who would and could kill a nation? And why? France got up from his chair and walked around the table to where the Brit was standing. He looked around at the crowd and put and hand on England's shoulder, turning him away from prying eyes.

"I think," he said with a wavering voice. "Perhaps I should talk to l'Amerique. We were both very close to Mathieu and I don't think he should be here while we are discussing this."

England nodded. "Good idea. I've never seen him like this."

They turned back to the room and France kneeled down next to America. He said something to him quietly and with a quick exchange they left the room, closing the door behind them.

The group watched them go silently.

Germany stood up then and cleared his throat attracting the attention of the room. He looked out at the confused faces. Last night England had made a call. When Germany had answered the Brit told him everything, so next to England and America he knew the most and, being the man he was, had decided to take charge.

"We have informed very few people about this…tragedy," he said. "Naturally we told Canada's government as well as our own. We don't want this getting out to the press, so no one must tell anyone. Until we find out who it was we would like everyone to stay here. For safety's sake of course."

A low rumble of dispute filled the silence and Germany put up a hand to silence them. "We have informed your bosses of the situation and for the next while you will remain here where we can keep an eye on you. No one is to leave or make any connection with the press. The rooms and kitchen are at our disposal. So please go unpack your things. We'll meet here again in an hour to discuss what to do next."

The nations erupted into noise as they stood up and began to talk amongst themselves. None of them knew who Canada was, but each of them was quick to point fingers. They were all certain it was everyone else.

As this went on around him England shouldered his way over to Germany who had been blocked from view by the ruckus. When he finally reached the blond he was talking quietly with Japan who looked incredibly troubled. After a quick few words Germany placed a hand on Japan's shoulder and nodded to something England couldn't here. The smaller man bowed slightly and said something that might have been a thank you and disappeared into the crowd.

England moved closer and had to tap the taller man on the shoulder before he was noticed.

"I'm sorry, Germany," he said loudly. "But I was just wondering what you were planning to do? I mean it's not like we'll be able to find out much."

"Ja," Germany replied. "But I want to keep an eye on them for a while. Perhaps we can figure this all out."

"I hope so. This whole thing just makes me so anxious." He looked over his shoulder at the nations. Was one of them a killer? And if so, who would be next?

**Not much happened here, this was more of a secondary intro I guess, but stuff will happen, I swear. This thing will live up to the warning. And guess what I learned today? Canada technically has 2 official national anthems! Who knew.**


	3. Chapter 3: benches and elevator shafts

**3**

When England finally found them America and France were sitting on a bench in the front hall of the massive meeting building. He approached them slowly, allowing them to continue their hushed conversation. They weren't as sad as they had been, but they were still obviously upset.

When they leaned in England paused. They hugged for a good long while, France muttering something to America, to quiet for the Brit to hear and the American simply nodded into his shoulder, eyes closed and brow furrowed.

Those eyes opened slightly and immediately went over to where England was standing. He pulled back from the embrace and turned to face him. France looked confused until his eyes fell on England. Knowing that the quiet conversation had come to an end, England walked over to them and sat down on the bench next to America.

After a brief moment of silence he spoke. "Germany has decided that it would be best to stay here until this is all sorted out. We have been given an hour to unpack and settle in and then we should go back to the meeting."

He waited for a reply, but when none came he sighed and put a hand on America's shoulder. "Come on. We should go find you a room."

"No, it's okay," came the quiet response. "France can help me find a room. You need to get one too."

England threw a curious glance over at the two of them who looked back at him with eyes so sad it hurt to look at. He looked down at the carpet and nodded. It wasn't a surprise that the two of them had grown closer by the shared loss, but he would have liked someone to lean on too. They weren't the only ones who had lost Matthew.

With a deep breath he stood up and turned back to look at them. "Alright. I suppose I'll see you both back there then." America smiled slightly in thanks, but he didn't stand up. Instead he turned back to France and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. The Frenchman frowned, but he nodded.

"Go on ahead, l'Angleterre," he said. "We will see you in a while."

"All right," England said. Then he turned reluctantly and made for the elevators.

"Wait." He turned around. "The elevators are out of service," said America. "You'll have to take the stairs."

"Right. Thanks." He turned again and this time he headed for the stairs. Behind him he could hear whispering, but he forced himself not to turn around. After all, their secrets were for them to know and he didn't want to pry.

.oOo.

Japan paced back and forth in front of the elevators, looking calm and feeling worried. Where was he? A noise behind him alerted him to someone's arrival and he swung around.

"Germany-san?" he asked uncertainly. "Where are you? I have been waiting-" But the figure before him wasn't who he thought and his heart immediately cringed. "Oh, it's you," he said to the nation warily. "I'm terribly sorry, but the elevators are out of order."

"I know," came the reply.

"Oh. Well then, can I help you with something? Were you looking for someone?"

"I was looking for you, Japan."

A shiver ran up his spine and he frowned. "What is it you want then?"

"You know, don't you?" he asked. "You were going to tell."

"Hai, they should know."

The other nation shook his head and walked over to an elevator. He ran his finger along the part in the doors and then he did something odd. He pushed his fingers through the crack and began to pull. As he pulled the doors slid open and once they disappeared into the walls entirely he let go and peered down into the darkness.

"You know, I've always wondered what it looked like down there. Come here." Without looking back he beckoned Japan closer. Japan swallowed and against his better judgment he found himself obeying the request, walking closer and closer until he was standing next to the figure.

The nation pointed down the elevator shaft and Japan followed his finger. The empty shaft was dark as pitch and he could barely see the thick wires running down into the depths. He swallowed again and looked over to the other who appeared to be watching him with interest.

"I wonder," he said without taking his eyes off the eastern nation. "How deep it is."

Japan glanced back down the cavernous blackness. "I do not know."

"Well," he said with a smile. "Why don't we find out?"

With that Japan felt a pressure on his back as the nation shoved him towards the opening. Caught off guard, Japan lost his balance. With wide eyes he reached out for something to catch on to, but the other nation was keeping his distance. He grabbed hold of the wires, but as he fell they burned his hands and he was forced to let go. With barely a cry he fell into the dark and out of sight.

The other nation counted to himself until he heard something hit the bottom. "Huh," he muttered. "Thought it would be deeper."

**Hello my dear readers.**

**Yes he killed him. Too bad, I liked Japan. I wonder who the killer could be? I bet you have some ideas. Drop in a review with your thoughts, predictions, suggestions, cries of amazement et cetera. Go on, you know you want to…**

**Random fact that has nothing to do with this: The Ringling Brothers were originally a family orchestra, not a circus.**

**Do you really think I own Hetalia?**


	4. Chapter 4: Discoveries and secrets

**4**

The room buzzed with activity as the other nations entered again. France had already arrived and America had followed shortly after him. England sat in his chair playing with a pen and waiting for the meeting to get going.

Over in the corner Russia was bothering China about something or other, much to the amusement of the surrounding nations and Italy was refusing to let go of Germany's arm making him blush. Spain was slowly getting closer to Romano every time England looked over until eventually he looked and found that the Italian had shoved Spain off his chair. None of them seemed very bothered over why they were there.

He had settled in the room at the end of the hall and waited, hoping to catch America on his way up, but at some point he gave up and went back down and waited. Had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, but it looked like the last of the nations were finally trickling in.

It seemed Germany noticed as well, but as the final person came in he began to crane his neck as though he were looking for someone. England glanced around as well, but he couldn't see anyone missing. Except for-

The door burst open and someone came charging in, his eyes wide and panting heavily. The room quieted at once as every head turned to look at Prussia. The albino bent over, hands on knees and just tried to catch his breath. He held up a finger to say wait a second and clutched his stomach. The others simply watched as his breathing slowed and he straightened up all the while trying to say something through his breathing, but nothing would come out.

He swallowed and tried again. "Guys," he said. "Y-you have to see this."

He led them out into the front lobby where he stopped in front of one of the broken down elevators and after glancing into it he looked down at his feet. The others crowded in to see what it was, but each of them immediately turned back their faces gone pale. England had been near the back of the room so he was also at the back of the crowd. As he watched each of them blanch and turn away his steps grew more reluctant, but he kept going until he found himself in front of the elevator.

The doors had been pulled open to reveal-

No. He felt his stomach rile up and he forced himself to look away just like all the others had before him though his eyes were drawn to the bloody mess. No no no no. No, it was too horrible to describe. How could this happen? He backed away and fought off tears of fear and disgust.

Germany stood over Japan's remains and stared with intensely blue eyes. He looked over at his brother and then back to the dead nation. "Bruder," he said quietly. "What happened?"

.oOo.

"I had no idea the elevators were out so I kept pushing the button. Nothing was happening so I decided to just take the stairs, but then I heard something from inside the elevator, like something hitting the bottom but there was this little noise when it happened like someone said something or whatever. So I wanted to see what had happened 'cause, you know, I was curious, so I opened the doors and…" Prussia's voice trailed off as he finished recounting how he had come across the body.

Germany nodded at his side and turned to look at everyone else. He searched the faces. "And everyone was either here or in there rooms at that point," he said to himself. Then to the group "Did anyone see Japan after the meeting before he- Before the accident?"

Everyone shook their heads and muttered quiet nos. "Alright," he muttered. "So I was the last to see him before he left the room."

"Excuse me Germany," England said.

"Ja?"

"Well, before we all left." He hesitated finding it difficult to say for some reason. What if the killer were in that very room? "Before we left, I saw you and Japan talking and just before he left he asked you something. What did he ask?"

The German frowned and the room looked expectant. "He wanted to speak with me later," he replied. "He said there was something he needed to tell me."

"Could it have had something to do with his death?"

Germany frowned again and turned to the crowd without answering. "We are all very shaken. Perhaps we should go for now and discuss things tomorrow when we are more rested."

The room emptied quickly, but before he could get very far England was called back by Germany. They waited until the last of the stragglers had vanished and then the German began to speak. "I do not want everyone to get worried," he said. "Who knows what would happen if they panicked, so I don't want them to know everything."

"So you're trying to spare them by making them more innocent to the whole thing?" England asked, trying hard to understand.

"Ja. As they say ignorance is bliss. But I know you can handle something like this and with all of your mystery books I thought that maybe you could help me figure this out before someone else…"

"I understand. What do you know?"

"Not much." He sighed. "But Japan knew something and he wanted me to know as well. I think he knew he would be next, I think he knew he would be targeted for what he knew and he tried to tell me." He ran a hand through his hair. "I just need to figure out what it was he knew. And why he was killed before he could tell me."

**I know what you're thinking. "Wow! Quick update! But I wish something had actually happened instead of them figuring out something I already knew." I know because I'm thinking that too. Okay! Not much has happened so far and this chapter didn't hold much, but it was necessary, believe me. So yeah. Thanks to the favouriters and alerters for your support, reviews are welcome hope you had a nice time please come again. Good day to you.**

**Don't own Hetaaaaaaliiiiiiiaaaaaaaaa! (Say musically)**


	5. Chapter 5: Orgies and Guns

**5**

Three days passed. Three days and nothing happened. They held meetings to discuss the options, but nothing ever came up and they ended up going back to their rooms without a clue as to what had happened. Perhaps nothing more would happen? Maybe it was over, both simply accidents. The others seemed to think so, but England knew better.

There was nothing to do in that building. Nothing at all. Some of them had taken to raiding the kitchen periodically just to occupy their time and others stayed in their rooms to terrified that they would be killed to even go to the bathroom. If you passed by their rooms you might think they were dead al ready for the lack of noise. The only sign of life was a sign France had hung on his door the read "Orgy."

Earlier on Germany had told everyone that if they were to go anywhere they should go in groups of at least two or three. Just in case. But no one paid the new rule any attention and a few people could be found wandering about the halls or exploring by themselves.

England himself had decided to wander and had already made two complete circuits of the first and second floor all the while thinking hard about the murders. There didn't seem to be any connection between the two deaths and both had been killed using items at hand. Al that told him was that the killer was opportunistic meaning that the murders could come at any time and anywhere.

He glanced behind himself every few seconds until it had become almost a twitch. No one was ever there, but it still felt like there were eyes on him.

As he passed by France's room for the second time (or was it third?) the door opened and the Frenchman leaned out without any clothes that England could see. Instinctively he brought up an arm to block out the man's lower half and his train of thought came crashing to a halt, as did he.

"Bloody hell!" he cried. He cast an angry glare up at France. "Would you mind putting on some clothes? You may not know this, but some of us prefer not to see you in the nude."

France put on a hurt look but it didn't last long. "Ah, but l'Angleterre," he said with a smile. "Then how would anyone see this beautiful body?"

"Just please put some clothes on. There are children here for God's sake!"

"Hon hon hon. Come join the orgy and then I will be out of sight of them and we can-"

"Finish that sentence and I swear to God I'll get my sword."

France raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, leaning against the doorway with a smile. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"I bet there's not even anyone in there with you," England said with a frown ignoring the comment.

"Non." The light disappeared from his face, but was quickly replaced with one slightly more mischievous. "But if you come in I am sure more will follow."

A shiver ran up the Brit's spine. "Not in your life. Now get out of the way." There was a sigh and the man disappeared closing the door behind him and leaving England alone in the hall again.

He continued to walk, his feet padding gently on the carpeted floor. Why did France have to be so… disgusting? Especially at a time like this with the killer so close at hand having already claimed two victims. He really couldn't stand the man. A thought wavered in his mind that France could be the killer, but he shoved it away quickly. There was no way a man like that would kill someone. At least not without raping them first.

He rounded a corner and down a set of stairs and back out into the lobby. The glass doors let in a small amount of graying light as the sun set on the other side of the building. All of the staff had been told to go home early and without a doubt told not to come back until this had been sorted out.

Idly, England went over to the doors and pulled at them. The frames clanged together, but held strong and refused to open. He knew they were locked. Of course he'd known, but still…

With a sigh he walked back across the lobby and to the stairwell on the other side. Even before he opened the doors the sound of shouting drifted out and he frowned. Inside the sound echoed off of concrete walls and he could make out the source. Somewhat.

One of the shouters he couldn't identify, but the other was definitely Germany and beyond the shouts where the unmistakable sounds of hands striking flesh painfully. England listened, trying to make out what they were saying and he stepped forward.

But as soon as his foot touched the step there came another sound. The bang of a gun. It was followed by a thud. And then another and another. Something hit the wall of the landing just above England and he rushed up the steps to meet it.

A body. That was clear, a body had fallen down the stairs and when England reached it he found it to be that of Germany, a single bullet wound oozing from his forehead and eyes staring up at the ceiling.

A door closed above him and England looked up. He hesitated, but only for a moment and then he charged up the steps and threw open the door. No one was in the hallway and he looked around at the doors angrily, his breathing ragged from excursion and fear. "Come out!" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

Every single door opened revealing nations with looks of varying curiosity. England looked at each of them, his breathing uncertain and his brow furrowed. Which one of you? He thought. Which one of you is a killer?

**Hallo.**

**Welcome back to my wonderful world of murder. Such a fun game to play isn't it? I think so.**

**Blueraven1999: thanks for the review. And yeah I know, that would be incredibly obvious, but don't worry it isn't him. …Maybe.**


	6. Chapter 6: Thoughts and rope

**6**

When they returned for him his eyes were still staring, up at nothing without taking in a drop of it. His hair was messy from the fight and the fall and the tips were reddened and hard from where it had fallen into his gun wound. His lips were slightly open and they could have sworn he was smiling, but none of them commented.

So many people were devastated by the death, so many more then the previous ones. Italy had gone quiet for the first time anyone could remember and Prussia had locked himself in his room, refusing all food and drink. The others were quieted as well. Canada had been invisible and Japan had been quiet, invisible in his own way, and neither death had affected the others quite so much. But now that Germany was dead… Without his commanding presence they felt at a loss. No more meetings took place after that, but they remained in the building for a reason no one knew. It seemed so empty and so much realer now.

England couldn't speak a word, not one. He had been there, been so close. He could have stopped it. He could have figured out that voice, he could have made an effort to uncover what was going on he could have he could have he could have. Oddly enough he felt so much more responsible for this death and connected to it then the others simply because he had been there. The guilt was unbearable.

Why hadn't he felt this way when his brother had died or when one of his friends had died? Instead the pain and suffering came crashing down when someone he had to admit he barely knew had been shot. But why? He already knew why. Because there was a chance and he could have taken it.

Now he sat in his room by the window, fingering the gun on his desk and thinking. The sun seemed too bright for such a day. "What happened?" he asked the sun. "Why was he killed?"

Another opportunistic killing. Germany must have gotten too close, maybe even figured it all out and when the killer got him alone _Bang!_ With his own gun. That must have been the fight he'd heard, a fumble for the gun. A fight and shouts of realization come too late. He had had a chance.

England lifted the gun. He had found it on the landing above the German and taken it before the others could see. He realized it wouldn't save them from knowledge like Germany had wanted, but at least he could get his hands on it before anyone else did. With regrettable interest he studied it. It was entirely German made and England silently commended them on their craftsmanship. It was too bad the gun had worked so well.

There was a knock at the door and England fumbled the gun a bit before catching it and shoving it loudly into a drawer of the desk. "Who is it?" he called nervously.

"It's me," said whoever it was.

"Well that's helpful," England muttered to himself. Nevertheless he stood and went over to the door and opened it. "Oh, it's you," he said.

"Yeah," said America with a glance down the hall. "Have you seen France?" he asked with another glance.

England frowned. "Not recently," he muttered with some distaste. "I don't keep tabs on him."

"Sh*t."

"Why? What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

That said he turned and walked away, back down the hall to who-knew-where. England watched him go. Great, he thought. Now the frog is missing too.

He closed the door and retreated into his room. Rather than sit again he began to pace. The room was only so big however so he could only go a few steps in any direction before hitting a wall, bed or desk, but it helped him to think. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and erase the images of the three dead nations. Blue-lipped Canada on the couch of his brother's house, mangled Japan at the bottom of an elevator shaft and smiling Germany on the floor of the stairwell.

Each one dead. Each one gone and never to come back again. And now France was gone too. Maybe dead, maybe not, but who could know right now?

And this all started with that one phone call, that one bloody phone call. If only he had been out, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe if he had just gone to the pub that night like he told his friends he couldn't.

Damn it.

.oOo.

America sat in his room, swallowing back tears and rubbing angrily at his eyes. Why did it have to go this way? Such drastic measures. He remembered the look on Frances face when he found out, when he walked away, forced him to do this.

His fingers worked quickly, burning on the course rope, but he couldn't feel it anymore. He couldn't feel anything. Not since his brother had died. Damn it, why did this have to be so hard?

Finally he gave up and sighed. It would do for his purposes and he looked on sadly. And in his lap he held a noose.

**That's right, a noose. And here I am to ruin the mood. Yay!**

**If anyone can guess who the killer is I will give you a virtual cookie. Or pie. Pie is better.**

**Don't own Hetalia.**


	7. Chapter 7: Meetings and maybes

**7**

What was he doing? Why was he there? And why, why oh why, was he…

No.

Oh f*ck no!

Sh*t, get down before he sees you. He saw you.

.oOo.

"I'm just saying, maybe they were accidents."

England sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "No they weren't. I know they weren't. Someone killed those people and we need to find out who before it happens again."

After a long time thinking England had called a meeting. A few nations showed up. For the past hour they had been going around in circles and now they had split into two distinct groups: The Accidentals and the Murderers. Those who thought it was an accident and those who thought it was murder.

To tell the truth only England and Greece were on the murder side and because Greece had fallen asleep with a beloved cat on his chest (again) it was left to the Brit to argue their point. Once again, it was going nowhere.

"But think about it," said Norway. "Japan fell down the elevator, which we all know was broken…"

"He was pushed."

"What's-his-name suffocated so maybe he choked on something, and we all know how invisible he is, so America didn't notice…"

"The pillow had saliva on it," England said with a frown. "And besides, do you really think Germany shot himself in the head by accident?"

"Maybe. Stress, trauma, panic…"

Long past the point of frustration, England closed his eyes and heard the gunshot ring clearly in his mind. "No, there was someone else there, I heard their voice, there was a struggle."

"Hysteria then." Norway looked on placidly past the others who had basically lost interest and/or given up on the argument. "Someone panicked, thought Germany was after them. There was a struggle and _Bang_! I don't know. I'm just saying, maybe they _were_ all accidents."

"And you've been saying that! We're getting nowhere fast and I think we've run out of points. We simply can't know anything with only three murders and no one there to see them."

"Don't forget France."

"Right." England nodded. "France is missing too."

They sat in silence for a moment and then suddenly a tiny voice from under the table said, "Maybe there _were_ witnesses."

England jumped back in surprise and then, brow furrowed he disappeared under the table. There was a loud "Ah-ha!" and he shot back up. In his hand he held Sealand by the ear. The smaller nation squirmed and squealed, but the elder held tightly.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"What were you doing down there? You shouldn't even be in here!"

"I'm sorry! Just let go, you jerk! It hurts!" England obliged and Sealand stepped out of reach quickly, rubbing his smarting ear. "And to answer your question, I wanted to know what's going on. No one tells me anything."

"And rightly so," England replied angrily. "How did you even get in here?"

"It wasn't hard-"

"Never mind, that's not important." England looked over at the others, who were watching without much curiosity, and then back to his little brother. "Just get out and find something else to do."

"Wait."

Estonia had appeared next to them and was now crouching down next to Sealand. Sealand looked just as startled as England felt.

"What did you say," asked the Baltic nation, "When you were under the table? Something about witnesses?"

Sealand nodded vigorously. "I said 'maybe there were witnesses.' Why?"

"What did you mean by that?"

"… I only meant that maybe someone did see it. Maybe they're too scared to say anything or maybe they can't."

England furrowed his brow. Estonia seemed to be on to something and he thought that he understood what. Unfortunately.

"Exactly," said Estonia as he straightened up. "Maybe they can't say anything. Maybe they were the ones who were murdered."

"So, you're saying that…"

"The only reason these people died was because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Think about it! Japan obviously knew something and he was determined to share it with Germany. But before he could…" He trailed off, not wanting to say what had happened.

"But," said England. "That means…"

Estonia nodded solemnly. "You could be next."

"England?" They all turned to find a very pale looking Finland standing in the door. He was panting slightly as though he had been running which by then they all knew was not a good sign. "England?" He said again, a bit quieter and with a slight quaver to his voice. "America's dead."

He could feel the blood drain from his face as the news sunk in and his breathing grew shallow. And for some reason he thought _maybe I _won't_ be next._

**Oh no! Who say who doing what? Were they really all just accidents? Is England going to die? Will I ever stop asking you questions? Stay tuned to find out!**


	8. Chapter 8: Hangings and bathtubs

**8**

"England? Are you okay?"

He opened his mouth to answer, to say "yes I'm fine thank you for asking. Now how about some tea?" but nothing would come out so he closed his mouth. His eyes were stuck so he couldn't look to see who had asked. They were stuck staring straight ahead, right at America. And America stared straight back and right through him to the hallway and beyond.

His body swung slightly on the noose and his mouth hung slightly open. His lips were blue and England couldn't help but think about his other brother who had been suffocated, his lips that same shade of blue. The twins. Gone.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes and blurred his vision. He didn't bother to wipe them away as he watched Sweden get his brother down and lay him on the bed. He let them fall down his cheeks when they turned off the music that had been left on a loop and stain his face when they closed America's eyes.

Four dead. Three murdered and one who took his own life. He had to find the murderer. He had to kill him, because really he was responsible for this death just as much as the others. America had killed himself because his little brother had died so the murderer was at fault.

"Hey," said someone. "Look at this."

A group gathered around Spain who was holding the CD in his hand. England went over too, but not before taking one last look at America. So peaceful. He turned to look at Spain who was putting the CD back into the player.

The machine sucked in the disc and after a moment of searching they found the song that had been playing. Spain shushed the crowd and stepped back.

And a song began to play.

"What do you think it means?" asked the Spaniard.

They listened for a moment more. "I think," said Iceland from somewhere near the back. "That it was a confession."

"Think so?"

"Well, yeah. Think about it. America kills brother, kills witness, Germany gets suspicious so he kills him too and then, feeling guilty, he offs himself. The song must be a confession to us. To let us know that it's over."

The crowd murmured in agreement as the song continued. England listened as he thought.

_Asia's crowded_

_ Europe's too old_

_ Africa is far to hot_

_ And Canada's too cold_

_ South America stole our name_

_ Let's drop the big one_

_ There'll be no on left to blame us._

It certainly sounded like a confession. Maybe. After all the whole song was about America destroying the world, but it just didn't seem right. America wouldn't kill. Well, not for no reason anyways. He especially wouldn't kill his treasured brother. No. He wasn't the killer. So was this a set-up? Or maybe it was just sad music for a sad man?

No one could know and now the only witness to the first death was dead. Anything he had neglected to mention was now gone. He was gone. America was gone.

Perhaps what Sealand had said was true, that anyone who witnessed a murder would die. But this hadn't been a murder. So maybe they were right. Could America have been the killer? Killed three or four people and then himself? It didn't sound quite right, but who could know? Maybe America _was _a killer and England had been too blind to see it.

Whatever the case he was dead now. There was no getting around that fact. And if he was the killer then maybe this could all end before it got any worse.

.oOo.

Prussia sighed as he sank down into the water. The bath was a touch too warm, but it felt good on his skin. He really needed to clean up and relax. Now that his brother's killer was dead.

He hadn't left the room since that day, but he didn't need to to hear the discussion that took place across the hall. America was dead, was the word, and he had been the murderer, so now maybe Prussia could sleep a little easier knowing that justice had been served.

His eyes closed. It really was peaceful here.

A sound made him open his eyes again and he sat up to look over the edge of the tub. And he saw him. Again.

He stood in the doorway to the bathroom with a blank look on his face and after looking around the room for a bit he made his way over to where Prussia was relaxing back into the water.

"What the hell man," said Prussia. "I'm trying to have a bath. It's great to see you and all, but can't this wait until I'm wearing clothes?"

The other nation didn't listen. Instead he came closer.

"I really hate to do this to you, Prussia," he said almost sadly.

"Wha-?" Prussia tried to ask, but he was cut short as the other nation put both hands on top of his head and, using all of his strength, pushed the albino's head under the water. At first he was stunned at what was happening, but Prussia quickly regained his senses and began to fight back, kicking and thrashing and scratching. But the hands held strong.

And held and held and held until eventually the thrashing stopped. He hesitantly pulled his hands away. Prussia's face floated up to the air, eyes closed and for a moment he was reminded of his first kill, but he shook the memory away. He put two fingers to Prussia's neck, flinching slightly as water entered the cuts on his hands.

No pulse.

And now a fifth was gone.

_They all hate us anyhow…_

_ So let's drop the big one now_

_ Let's drop the big one… now_

**Hola! You didn't seriously think I would end the story like that did you? Heh, no of course not! What's the fun of killing only three people? Ish. Three-ish. Whatever.**

**Send in comments and guesses! A right guess gets you a cookie! I don't own Hetalia! Yay!**


	9. Chapter 9: Neckties and car keys

**9**

Finland walked down the hallway, glancing around himself nervously. His eyes darted around, examining every dark corner, every concealing shadow. Electric fear ran under his skin all the way to his fingertips and made his hair stand on end.

There was something odd about that body, something not quite right and Finland had to admit that he didn't think America had taken his own life. There was someone in that building who was willing to kill.

The others didn't think so. They thought it was America who had done it all and in the end killed himself out of guilt. They wanted to go home, thought it was safe again. Finland knew better. Sure, he wanted to go home too, but for some reason he had a feeling that going home wouldn't be any safer than staying put.

"Peter?" he called out loudly as he dared. Where was he? "Peter, come on, this isn't funny. Where are you?"

A noise behind him made him swing around, eyes wide and heart pounding. There was nothing there, but he was sure he could feel eyes on him. Another noise made him turn again and again there was nothing.

"W-who's there?" Finland called out feebly. "Peter? Is that you?"

"Oh, Finland," came a voice from behind him. But still when he looked there was no one there. "Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't you just have accepted it?"

"Where are you?" he asked, spinning around, trying to locate the voice. But the voice seemed to be everywhere at once. And he recognized it. Who was that?

"I'm so sorry, Fin. I really am."

And then there he was. He appeared right behind Finland, but when he turned to look an arm reached around and grabbed his tie, pulling it around to hang down his back and then a knee contacted his spine. The wall smacked his face and he put up his hands to push away, but the knee remained where it was, holding him there like a trapped animal.

"You know," said the voice. "I've never understood ties. They always seemed like a hazard to me."

The nation grabbed his tie and pulled. And the tie tightened. And tightened. It dug into his skin and cut off his air. All he could get out was a quiet squeak as he clawed desperately at his neck. Black spots appeared in his vision. The whole world began to fall away.

And then there was a voice he did know. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" it shouted. Switzerland shouted. It was Switzerland. But he was too late and Finland died.

.oOo.

It was rather vague who found them because the kitchen was the most used room in the building. It may have been Romano going back to check on his pasta sauce or Russia going to grab some vodka from his secret stash, but whoever it was it didn't take long for word to spread. Two more were dead.

And these weren't as well taken as would be expected because not only did everyone expect it to be over now that America was dead, but the fact that whoever it was was able to kill a fully armed Switzerland. It just didn't seem right.

He had been found leaning up against a kitchen cupboard with blood trickling down from above his hairline and from the gaping cut in his throat. A revolver sat next to him, well within reach and loaded in preparation. For what? Who knew? There was no way of knowing now why the gun was out and loaded and yet he didn't use it. Maybe it was loaded because he was trigger-happy and maybe he didn't fire because it jammed, but there had to be something more. England was sure of it.

So as he walked down the hall to Prussia's room he wondered about this. He also wondered why the killer had just left Finland laying out in the open like that and he wondered how Sweden was going to react when someone finally told him. But mostly he wondered where Germany's car keys were.

He and America had taken a cab down to the meeting hall, but Austria had told him that Germany, Italy and Prussia had ridden together in Germany's car. The keys hadn't been in the dead nation's room so England assumed his brother had them.

When he arrived the door was locked as it had been since Germany was shot so, trying not to look behind him to where America had once been, England knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He put his ear to the door to listen for any sounds of the ex-nation, but it was utterly silent.

"Prussia," he called. "Prussia, open the door, I need a word with you."

Nothing. He knocked again, more insistently. "Prussia! Open the door for God's sake!"

"England?" He turned to see Italy looking out at him from a few doors down with a sleepy look on his face. He must have been taking his siesta. England cast a glance at the closed door before walking down the hallway to speak to Italy.

"I'm sorry, Italy," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you. But have you seen Prussia lately? I need to talk to him."

Italy rubbed his eyes and hummed. Then after a moment's thought he shook his head. "No, sorry. I haven't seen him since…" For an instant a look of incredible sadness came over him, but it was quickly replaced with a determined fatigue. "No. Why?"

"I'm trying to find out where the keys to Germany's car went. I want to end this once and for all, but to do that I need a car. I thought perhaps Prussia would have the keys, but he doesn't seem to want to answer the door."

Italy smiled a bit and nodded. "He's sad. But I think I can help you with the keys." England looked on in surprise as Italy retreated into his room and returned with a key ring dangling from his fingers. He held them out and dropped them into the Brit's outstretched hands. "I thought I would need a way to get back to the airport when it was all over so I took them from his room."

"Well… thank you, Italy. This proves most helpful. Thank you."

Italy smiled his sad little smile again. "De nada."

England turned and headed back down the hall his head racing with plans and ideas, but a small voice stopped him. "England?"

He turned. "Yes, Italy?"

"Do… Do you think you can really end this? Can you stop this? Do you know how?"

"I'm not sure. But I think I know where to begin."

**Wow. So it turns out everyone has ideas of what's going on and some of them are incredibly descriptive *cough* Crazy Tomato *cough*. But unfortunately I can't say who gets cookies until the end without giving it all away, so you'll just have to wait. But don't worry. Not much longer now.**

**I don't own Hetalia and I'm pretty sure I never will.**


	10. Chapter 10: houses and rooftops

**10**

Canada's house. That's where England was going. That was where England was going to try and figure the whole thing out.

If this person, whoever they were, was trying to kill off all of the nations who knew something about this first death then Canada was the key. There had to be something about the deceased nation that none of them had known. But what could have been worth murder?

Damn it! This would have been so much easier if Canada had been a little more noticeable. Then maybe they could have known.

But until he reached the house it would have to wait. And it would be quite a long drive.

.oOo.

Sealand opened the door to the roof.

The sky was graying, but rain was a long ways off. A pleasant breeze kissed his cheeks and he closed his eyes to feel it better. But closing his eyes would make the world seem darker, so he opened them again and looked around. The note he had left for his "friend" had said to meet up on the roof in five minutes.

A noise made him turn and he saw his friend stumbling over a fan and onto the gravel rooftop.

Sealand swallowed and pushed his chest out bravely. "We need to talk," he said.

.oOo.

When he pulled up in front of the house it was almost dark and the sky was turning a dangerous shade of grey. A gust of wind rattled the trees and sent a shiver down England's spine.

He shouldn't have stopped off at America's house first, it was getting much too late, but he needed to look there first for any sign of anything useful. Everything had been clean when he arrived. The pillow had been washed and fluffed and put back in its place and it looked like everything had been dusted recently. So someone was taking care of America's house and making sure there was nothing there of any use to anyone. But there had to be something here. A voice message, a phone number or even some sort of angry letter.

But what he really expected was for the door to be locked. To his surprise, when England twisted the knob the door opened without any hesitation and not a single sound. Odd. He walked inside and closed the door behind him.

The house was nice, kind of homey, and with startling realization England realized he had never actually been here before. So he looked around at the bookshelves and the big soft-looking couch and had no idea where to begin. Where did Canada keep his phonebook and mail? Where did he keep anything? From where the Brit was standing the only papers he saw were in the books on the shelves and as he wandered the house and rummaged through boxes and shelves he couldn't find anything personal or even political.

It could have been a staged house for all its neatness. Not a pillow out of place. There was nothing useful at all. But being who he was England decided to make one more circuit around the house to be sure.

It was fully dark outside now and rain was beginning to hit the windows. A certain creepiness took over and as he moved and England couldn't help but get the feeling that there was someone else in the house. He found himself glancing over his shoulder every now and again and there was the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

He walked slowly and checked each room carefully, making sure there was nothing he had missed and no one hiding in the corners. After trying a door that looked like it lead to a basement for the third time it was time to check the kitchen again and the Brit stepped into the room. Immediately an arm shot out and put a cloth over his mouth and nose and another arm grabbed him around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Does this smell like chloroform to you?" asked a voice in his ear. A voice he knew. And then there was nothing but darkness.

**My, my, you do have a lot of theories don't you? Even I have been accused of murder… But unfortunately for you the killer will not be revealed until next time so you'll just have to wait.**

**List of accused is now at 9 with:**

**Russia**

**America**

**Austria**

**France**

**Sealand**

**Myself**

**Spain**

**The Italies**

**And probably someone else who I can't remember right now.**

**Don't own Hetalia**


	11. Chapter 11: Bungee cords and revelations

**11**

When England woke up his head was pounding and there was a foul taste in his mouth. He reached up to rub his eyes, which felt like they were burning, but somehow his arms couldn't move. No matter how hard he tugged his arms would not budge and when he opened his eyes and looked down he found that they had been bound with bungee cords and so were his feet.

What the hell was going on?

There was a sound from across the room, a muffled cry, and he looked up. France. It was France looking disheveled and frightened. His hands and feet were tied as well and he was also gagged. He seemed confused and he kept trying to speak through the rag in his mouth, but England couldn't make out a word of it.

"What?" he asked, still a bit groggy.

France said something and then squirmed in his bindings. A noise made him stop and he looked over to a set of stairs. At the top a door had just closed and a figure stood with his back to the two of them, locking their only way out.

The figure turned and came down the steps and onto the cold cement floor. And England couldn't believe his eyes. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. And yet there he was standing before him. America.

"Good to see you're awake," he said. "You know it took a lot of work to get here before you did."

"B-but," the Brit stammered. "I thought you were…"

"Dead?" asked the blond. "Yeah, long story."

"But how did you-"

"Shut it," he said. "Don't talk so much or I'll have to take away your speaking privileges like I did with France."

England nodded silently. The nation in front of him smiled a bit and then went over to France who was looking a bit more than terrified. He knelt down and whispered something in his ear that made France's eyes go wide and then he stood and when over to England.

He knelt down so close that he could smell the nation's breath and could see that his eyes were a shade too dark. He licked his lips and spoke quietly. "Don't ever ask questions. Don't ever talk back. Don't ever ignore me and you will be safe." He sighed. "But do anything, say anything, and I can't guarantee you anything. Now, did you tell anyone where you were going?"

England swallowed and shook his head. "Good." He stood up and went back over to the stairs. "Don't move a muscle. I'll be right back."

He disappeared through the door and England heard it being locked. He looked at the door for a moment more and then turned to examine the room. It wasn't much. The walls and floor were made of cement and the only door was now locked. There were two windows, both situated just under the ceiling and only a few inches tall, definitely not big enough for a man to fit through. Off to the right was a workbench with nothing on it but dust and a chewed up pen.

The bungee cords, stretched to their limit so that they dug into his skin and it felt like he was leaning up against a large pipe. But if he moved around a little his fingers could just touch the small knot that connected the ends. With a shrug of his shoulders and a quick tug he had the knot between the palms of his hands. He began to roll it carefully in the hope that it would loosen.

A small noise made him look at France. The blond was saying something beneath his gag and shaking his head vigorously. Normally England would have just ignored him, but their situation and the sound of footsteps above head made the Brit agree that now was not the time for escapes.

The door opened noisily and America appeared again. In his arms he carried three bowls and three bottles of water. He set a bowl and a bottle on the workbench and then went over to where England was seated against what felt like a large pipe. He set down the bowls and bottles and told England to lean forward.

The Brit complied and the other nation disappeared behind him. There was a short sharp laugh and then he said softly, "Trying to escape, eh? I'd better keep my eye on you." And then to England's surprise he felt America's fingers undo the knot in the bungee cords and the pressure on his wrists subsided. A pair of arms appeared around him and the bungee cord was strung around his middle instead and then around the massive pipe so that he was able to move his arms, but not stand up or move around.

The nation went and did the same for France and after making him promise to be good he untied the gag. Then he retreated to the workbench where he pulled himself up to sit on it. "Dig in," he muttered.

France took the food silently and ate without complaining. England took the bowl, just within reach, and looked at the contents. Vegetable soup. He looked over to America who was eating cheerfully. He seemed to notice the gaze and looked over to his captive. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "I'm kind of short on supplies right now, but I'll get some more stuff in a bit." He went back to eating, but England didn't.

Instead he set down the bowl and took a deep breath through his nose. "Listen," he said. "I think I can help. You just have to tell me what happened."

America looked over at him, but said nothing.

"Really, I mean it. I know you made a mistake and I'll admit it was pretty big, but I can help, I mean it. I know I've been ignoring you quite a bit for the past week or so and I'm sorry, but I was just trying to-"

"The past week?" he coughed past a mouthful of soup. "You've ignored me ever since you got me. So thanks for the apology, but I think you're a century or so too late."

"W-what?" England stuttered.

The other nation sighed and rolled his eyes. He then got off the table and came over to crouch down in front of the Brit. "I'm not America," he growled.

Not America? But then who – Oh. But how was that even possible? Although now it seemed so incredibly obvious. How had he not seen it before? The hair that was a bit too ragged, skin a bit too pale, and eyes, not a shade too dark, but a shade too violet.

This wasn't America. This was Canada.

**Bet you didn't see that coming. Both the killer and the fact that I updated so quickly. Twice in two days? What is this trickery? So yeah, no one gets cookies, but the people who guessed America get half a cookie. I'll explain why in the next chapter, which you will have to wait another week for. I'm sorry, but it has to be this way.**

**Do not own Hetalia.**


	12. Chapter 12: Phone calls and blades

**12**

England sat defeated, watching as Canada flipped through his cell phone. He wondered how it was even possible that he was alive. He had the feeling that he already knew, but it wasn't clear to him.

France had fallen asleep quite some time ago and the basement was quiet aside from the small beeps and clicks that came from the phone. There was no way out as far as he could see. There was no way to try and escape because it seemed that Canada never left the basement except for meal times where he would only disappear for a few minutes. In those few minutes England would always try different things to get out. But each time Canada would come back down and discover his futile attempts. Now the cords around him were tied at the front to keep his from untying the knot and it seemed like it was all over. He was never getting out.

"Wait a second, how did you get my phone?"

Canada looked over at him and smirked. "I checked your pockets when you were under." He looked back down at the phone. With one hand he held it and continued to flip through it and with the other he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a gun. "Found this too," he said. And then shaking his head he tutted. "You should know better than to carry firearms around. Whose was it? Germany's?"

"Yeah," the Brit replied quietly. He had only taken it as an extra precaution, but it didn't really do him much good.

Suddenly the phone began to vibrate. Canada looked over at England with wide eyes and then he got up off the table and went over to sit down next to his captive. He looked him dead in the face and said, "Speak a word of me or where you are and I swear to God I will shoot you. Understand?"

England nodded and Canada flipped open the phone and held it up so that both of them could hear.

"Hello?" said someone on the other end. "England? Are you there?"

Canada gestured for England to say something.

"Yes, hello?"

"Hola, it's Spain," said Spain. "I know we don't have a good history or anything, but… what am I saying? This isn't about… Look, we just thought that since you raised him and all you should know that Sealand is dead. We found him outside a half an hour ago. I think he was pushed off the roof, but… Who knows, right? Dio, that makes eight. Um. So yeah I just thought you'd want to know that. England? Hello?"

A sharp pain made the Brit come out of his stupor and he found that Canada had poked a small blade between his ribs and was mouthing for him to say something.

"Y-yes, I'm here. Thank you for letting me know. I'll… I'll come back as soon as I can, I just have to finish a few things over here."

"Oh, okay. I'll tell them that you're tied up there. See you later."

"Yeah, see you." Before England could even think about the irony of what Spain had just said Canada hung up and put the phone and blade back in his pocket. He stood up and walked back over to the workbench where the gun was sitting.

He spun around and looked at England. "He said eight," he told him. "Eight, so that's…" he counted on his fingers, mouthing each countries name in turn and then he frowned and re-counted. "He said eight right?"

England nodded.

"Nine," said Canada. "There are nine people dead or missing. Not eight. Does that mean he knows that I didn't actually die? Does he know?"

"B-but, it was only eight."

"No, no, it was nine. There was me, then Japan, Germany, America, Prussia-"

"Wait, Prussia?"

Canada stopped and looked at him. "Yeah, why?"

"We didn't know Prussia was dead. When did…"

"He saw me bringing Al's body into my room so I had to or he would tell someone. So does that mean he's still in his bathtub?"

England sputtered. "You drowned him in the bathtub? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Shut up or I'll have to take away your speaking privileges."

"No! No, I won't stop talking! You killed nine people!"

"Technically I only killed Al, Japan, Germany, Prussia, Finland and Switzerland, that's… six."

"What about Sealand? You killed him too."

Canada grimaced and closed his eyes. "I didn't kill Sealand."

"Then what do you call-"

"Shut up! Just shut. Up." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and then he checked his watch. "Lunchtime," he muttered. "I'll be right back."

The Canadian disappeared up the steps and through the door. England turned to look at France who had woken up at some point and was now staring straight back. No, not straight back. A little down and to the right at the floor beside England.

He looked down at the floor and to his surprise he saw the small blade that Canada had poked at him. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he stood up. And it was just within reach.

England shifted and stretched out his legs to pull the blade closer with his feet. Then he turned around and picked it up. He got to work cutting through the bindings on his wrists.

The bungee cords snapped easily and the Brit brought his raw hands forward to cut the cords on his ankles as well. With that done he stood up, somewhat unsteadily, but he soon regained his balance and went over to France. He untied the gag and France spat and coughed and shook his head. The wrists were next, but as he was busy cutting through those France spoke.

His voice was rough from lack of use but it was unmistakable what he said. "He didn't lock the door."

What? Really? But wait, now that he thought about it when Canada had closed the door there had been no click of the lock locking. So after undoing the rest of the restraints he bounded up the stairs and tried the door. It gave and opened a crack, letting in the sound of sobbing.

He peered through the crack and could just make out their captor's back, hunched over the kitchen counter and shaking. Was he really so shaken that he forgot to lock the door? Either way it was a way out and either way the way out was blocked by a nation strong enough to kill a fully armed Switzerland.

There had to be something he could use. England looked around the room, searching for anything that remotely resembled a weapon. And there it was. Sitting on the workbench like a sign of what he had to do. So England went back down the stairs and picked up Germany's gun.

**Le gasp! What will happen next!**

**This story just doesn't want to die, it's like no matter what I do it won't end, so here's the deal. I'll keep writing, you keep reviewing. And I guess it will end when it ends.**

**I have to admit I was expecting a million rages, but to my surprise there were only a couple. You know, about the fact that it's Canada. I said that would be explained this time, but I had a better idea, so if you haven't figured out how he did it already, you'll have to wait a little longer **

**Do no own Hetalia… **


	13. Chapter 13: Questions and answers

**13**

With the solid weight of the gun in his hands England crept toward the kitchen. He kept close to the wall and when he reached the doorway he peered around and into the room he had seen Canada in. He was no longer there and the Brit felt a tinge of fear that came from not knowing where the danger was.

He moved quietly, checking each room and it didn't take long to find the nation he was looking for. Canada stood with his back to the living room, looking out the window at a crow that picked at the soggy lawn. England pointed the gun at him and cocked it.

At the sound the northern nation raised his hands shakily and taking in shuddering breaths turned around. His face was stained with tears, but England found no sympathy for his former colony as he slowly approached. As he did Canada backed away. When his back hit the window he slid down to sit against the wall.

They stayed that way for a minute or so and France appeared behind England, looking scared and uncertain. "Well, what are you waiting for?" said Canada, his voice growing louder. "Shoot me! Just get it over with!"

"That was never you on the couch, was it?" England asked shakily. "That was America. That was him that whole _f*cking _time!"

"Shoot me."

"No," said the Brit. "First I have to know. Why did you do it?"

"What? No! Just shoot me!"

"Why did you kill America! Tell me!"

Canada swallowed. "It was an accident," he muttered. "I didn't want to do it."

"Oh, so the pillow just fell onto his face."

"No. I just wanted him to stop screaming."

_The pillow wrinkled under his white-knuckled grasp and his brother's hands clawed at the fabric, fighting for air. "Just shut up!" Canada shouted. "For once in your life, just shut up!"_

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Any more questions? Because I feel like you're going to shoot me no matter what I say."

"Yes. Why did you kill the others?"

"Japan saw what happened. He was at Al's house too, but he left to get some more ice cream. I saw him watching. He saw."

"And Germany?"

"He was scared. But unlike you he began to figure it out. He found me in the stairwell and pulled a gun. I would have hidden the body, but I heard you there so I bolted. As for the others they all knew something too. Finland was doubtful, he knew something was up when he saw the body, so I took care of him. Switzerland walked in on it so he had to go too. Prussia spotted me while I was setting up the suicide and I knew he would recognize me like France did."

"But Switzerland-"

"Had his gun. I know. He pulled it on me like Germany did so… I ran away. I got to the kitchen before he could catch up with me, but someone had left pasta sauce on the stove and I accidentally spilled it when I ran into it. Switzerland slipped on it and hit his head. So… I finished him off."

_On the counter was a knife holder. He picked out the biggest one and, taking a firm grip, Canada pulled it across Switzerland's naked throat. One stroke was all it took and the blood began to flow down onto the collar of his crisp white shirt._

"But I still don't understand how you faked the suicide if America was dead already," said England.

Canada shrugged. "I got America's body and strung it up. No harm no foul. It would have ended it all if Prussia hadn't been wandering the halls, looking for a midnight snack." The tears were still trickling down his face, but his shaking had stopped now and his eyes just looked empty.

"Right. I understand that France recognized you. That's why you two were constantly talking, but why did you tie him up?"

"Why did I tie him up? Or why didn't I kill him? To answer the second question, it's the same reason I didn't kill you. I couldn't kill family, America was a mistake. To answer the first, it's because he didn't exactly approve of what I was doing. He understood my first mistake, but when the others started dying too he threatened to tell someone. I had to keep him quiet."

"Okay. Just one last question. Why did you kill Sealand?"

"I didn't kill him," Canada snarled.

"Well whether you killed him or not he's still dead because of what you did. So unless this is another one of your tricks I suggest you tell me what happened!" England tightened his grip on the gun and Canada looked suddenly small and scared.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I'll tell you." He sniffed. "While you were snooping around and finding out absolutely nothing Sealand had the brains to figure out what was going on. He hid under tables during meetings he wasn't supposed to hear and snuck around, hiding in places only he knew about. He didn't have ties to the others like you did so in all his searching he managed to piece it all together.

"He left me a note telling me to meet him on the roof to talk so I met him there. The only thing he hadn't figured out was that I wasn't America. He got scared when I told him what really happened and he started backing up."

_Rain darkened the pebbles on the roof and Sealand's feet kept on moving. Canada watched as he neared the edge. The edge which was slick with water._

"I didn't kill him," he finished. "He slipped." Canada hid his face in his hands and was quiet for a moment. "I never wanted any of this to happen," he finally muttered through his fingers. "I didn't want this. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. I thought if it was me who died then no one would care, it would all just vanish… but then there was you. And you just wouldn't let it go away. J-just shoot me, okay? I don't want to keep living anymore. I don't want to do any more harm."

England felt paralyzed. He wasn't sure whether he should shoot Canada or give him a hug. The gun suddenly felt too heavy. He began to lower it, but it was grabbed from his hand and France stepped forward, gun in hand and pointed it at his former colony.

"Desolé," he said quietly. And then France pulled the trigger.

**The end.**

**Just kidding! I would never end a story like that, that's just ridiculous. There's still a bit more to come, so don't give up hope. Keep reading, reviewing and being awesome like dat!**

**Hetalia is not mine just the storyline**


	14. Chapter 14: Deaths and Deception

**14**

The gun clicked.

France pulled the trigger again, but the gun just clicked again and no matter how many times he tried the bang never came. England reached over and grabbed the gun. He flipped it open. It was empty, there were never any bullets in it.

There was a small sound and the two looked up. It was Canada. He was laughing. It started quietly, just a small giggle, but it quickly grew into a hysterical guffaw. He brought his hands away from his face and threw his head back and tears streamed down his face. From laughter or not England couldn't tell, but the terror inside him was growing rapidly.

Canada tried to say something, but through his laughing it was impossible to make out. He tried to calm down and managed to lower his laugh to a frightening giggle. "I knew you were thick," he said between fits of the giggles. "But this is just too precious."

"What are you talking about?" asked England warily.

"Y-you really think I would leave you down there with a loaded gun? Not on your life." He got to his feet and stepped towards them, his laughter and smile vanishing. "I think I may have overestimated you. This isn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be." He wandered over to a side table and pulled open the door. He cleared his throat and spun around, a gun in his hand.

England stumbled back a bit into France and the two of them stood up against the wall. Canada gave a short sharp laugh and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. "I really did think you'd figure something out, after all you are the home of Sherlock Holmes and other magical mystery novels, but I guess you loved America more than I thought. You know I really thought that if I pretended to be the dead one this could all disappear like me, but I guess even when he's dressed as me America still demands the attention."

"I-I don't understand," stammered England.

"Of course you don't," spat Canada. "Here's the thing, okay? I left the door unlocked, my knife lying next to you and an empty gun on the table. You come up to kill me, I have some fun making you hopeful and then it all backfires and you die. Got it? I'll have to admit though, I didn't expect you to release France as well, that kind of ruins the whole thing." He swung the gun a bit to the left so that it pointed directly at France. The Frenchman gasped and tried to move away, but with the wall behind him and England in front all he could do was sidle along the wall, but the gunpoint followed him.

"Mathieu, non," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Papa, I really am. But you shouldn't have gotten in the way of my fun."

Now England was getting confused. "But I thought you said you never wanted any of this to happen."

Canada shrugged and smiled. "The thing is… I lied."

There was a massive bang and France flew back into the wall. Then he slid down into a heap on the floor. England ran over and turned him on his back. There was a single perfect little hole where his eye used to be.

He looked up at Canada who was watching without any emotion. The gun was at his side, but he quickly brought it up to point at the Brit. England stood up slowly and glanced around for a way out, but there was nothing. Nowhere to go, nothing he could do. Canada scratched his eyebrow and took a deep breath.

"So, now it's your turn. And I have to say, I thought it would be a lot more enjoyable, but it turns out you're just as disappointing as any of those other idiots. Is there anything you want to say or are you good?"

"Just one thing," said England. "I want you to tell me what happened that night. When America died. Tell me everything."

.oOo.

Canada splashed water up onto his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked crazy. His hair was ragged from when he cut it that night to look like his brother, his lips were dry and he kept on licking them, and his eyes just looked hollow.

_It was dark already and rain had been tormenting them all day. No one dared step outside and crashes of thunder and lightening gave it all an eeriness that the chilly air just couldn't shake. All in all it was the perfect night for a scary movie._

_ Canada sat on the couch in his brother's house watching as the American fumbled with the DVD in front of the static filled television. Japan sat silently in a recliner, waiting patiently for the movie to begin. Neither of them had really wanted to be there, but America wasn't someone you could say no to._

He closed his eyes on the memory. He couldn't think of that now. He had the bodies to dispose of. So his face still dripping wet he went back downstairs to where England was lying in the hall, a bullet through the back of his head. He shouldn't have tried to run away.

_There he was. Japan, standing in the rain, in the dark, watching it all with a blank expression. No. He saw._

_ He stood up from his spot on the couch and took a step towards the window. And then Japan bolted. Canada ran after him, out the door and down the steps and out into the rain. But Japan was fast. All that training with Germany during the war had paid off. Canada had to stop to catch his breath and when he looked up Japan was already out of sight._

_ How much had he seen? The northern nation wondered, ignoring the rain that ran down his face and through his hair. Enough. He had seen Canada with a dead America and it was obvious what had happened._

He slung the bodies over his shoulders and went down the stairs into the basement. There was a broom cupboard down there and that's where he put them, closing the door and locking it tightly. Then he went back upstairs and locked the basement door as well, taking every precaution he could.

_Within minutes he had both himself and his brother undressed and then dressed again in each other's clothes. He went to the kitchen and took out a pair of scissors. He cut his hair quickly and raggedly, but hopefully no one would notice. As a last thought he put on a pot of popcorn and then returned to the living room. With shaking fingers he traded glasses with his brother._

_ And then he picked up the phone. And dialed a number he knew by heart. And the phone rang. And then someone answered. "H'llo?"_

He closed and locked the door and descended into the grey afternoon. His car sat ready for him to take it somewhere safe, but he didn't know where was safe anymore. His neighbors wouldn't worry, he knew, they were used to him disappearing for months at a time so there was no reason to fret about them. And he supposed it was the same with the rest of the world.

_"England?" he wept._

He started the car and backed out the driveway. He wasn't worried anymore. After all…

_"Matt's dead."_

It's not like anyone would recognize him.

**The End. For real this time.**

**As you can see, Matt won, I always vote for the bad guys. :) If you have any questions (which I'm sure you do, that was confusing as hell) just drop in a review and I'll try to straighten it out best I can. And also, over 60 reviews! You guys are the best, I'll try to get out another fic soon, I have quite a few in the works. I just can't decide between insanity and laboratory experiments.**

**HETALIA IS NOT MINE AND NEITHER IS THIS TACO!**

**Bye for now.**


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